The face of addiction in Jesus’ eyes.

I see it in his eyes. Past the piles of beer cans and cigarette butts. Regardless of his controlled saunter down the street to the convenience store at 7 a.m. Deeper than his scruffy beard, long hair and dirty wife beater. I see the alcoholism in his eyes.

He lives two doors down. We’ve never exchanged more than a brief “hello” in passing, but I know this stranger. Because alcoholism is no stranger. His eyes gave up looking for hope when getting his next drink was like finding his next breath.

Addiction snakes its way into homes, stealing meaning and joy from life and replacing it with a craving that’s never quenched, a throbbing that won’t quit. I know it. We all do, just in different forms. Pornography, drugs, food, sex, approval, success.

God, help us.

But didn’t he? Doesn’t he? When Jesus promised abundant life (John 10:10) in the face of what kills, steals and destroys, can we believe in a full life free of addiction’s shackles? If the Son sets you free (John 8:36), are you indeed free, even from relapse? Why isn’t this mysterious solution, this life-giving choice to trust Jesus the answer to the world’s hurts and addictions — referred to by doctors, recovering addicts, and those who have never stepped inside a church?

Yes, the first two steps in the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program is admitting we’re powerless over alcohol and that there is a Higher Power greater than ourselves who can restore us to sanity. But why does finding freedom from addiction — which doesn’t favor Christians, non-Christians, young, old or anyone else — have to be so hard. Unattainable, even?

My husband heard a sermon about the sun. It’s the perfect distance from Earth. Any farther and all life would die. Any closer and all life would burn up. The same is true for God. Any farther from us and we’d have no hope. Any closer and we’d have no choice but to believe. Is that really how it is? Reminds me of when our dog’s bone slides under the couch — it’s out of reach but she knows it’s there. Until she doubts it’s there. But then she remembers it’s there. A cycle that brings her back to scratching at the floor in a feeble attempt to get it. Annoying as hell.

I grapple with the grayness that falls between our need for God and his promises to us. Hurting, sinning, seeking, struggling, repenting, trusting, hurting, healing, hoping, hurting, struggling. What does God give us when we ask for his kingdom here on earth? Is this how he intends for us to live?

I don’t know. But if the face of addiction will look, it will find its pain mirrored in Jesus’ eyes, with compassion, mercy and hope, and there also, redemption. I don’t yet know how to believe in that, here and now for each and every person. But each time I pass the man two doors down, I understand his fight and I share it. I’ll have hope for him, even if he doesn’t for himself. For now, I’ll just be faithing.